


Never Look a Gift Elephant in the Mouth

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandy Reid looks for a Christmas present for Laurie Odell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Look a Gift Elephant in the Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally posted to:** fawatson's personal LiveJournal on 13/01/2013 and crossposted to maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on the same date.  
>  **Originally written for:** Brigit’s Flame January 2013 (Week 2 – Just for fun)  
>  **Prompt:** : Patience  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.  
>  **Author’s Notes:** (a) This story was also inspired by Greer Watson’s own Yuletide 2012 story, “Exit Stage Left, A Wounded Warrior” and picks up on an early scene between Sandy and Laurie within those ‘chapters’; (b) GA Henty was a prolific author of adventure novels in the 19th C; one of his more famous novels was _With Clive in India_ (published 1884)

“You want to what?” Alec’s astonishment was obvious. 

“Don’t you like the idea?” 

Alec shrugged. “I didn’t realise you liked Laurie so much.” He looked searchingly at Sandy’s earnest – no eager – face. The penny dropped: this plan to buy a Christmas present wasn’t really about Laurie and Ralph. Somehow, this _peculiar_ suggestion was about them, about being a couple. He bit back the scathing comment he had been about to make, and found himself saying softly, “Perhaps you’re right. Had you thought what sort of present to get him?” 

“Something for the house, perhaps? They’ll be setting up and bound to need things,” said Sandy. 

Alec blinked at the image of domesticated bliss this gave rise to. Was Sandy envisaging Laurie choosing china patterns and sewing curtains? Somehow that was not his take on that serious young man. Inwardly he sighed; outwardly he got out of bed, walked over to the dressing table where he had left his wallet, and extracted a fiver. 

“Will this be enough, do you think?” 

Sandy beamed his delight. “I can find a fabulous present with _that_ , darling.”

Alec slid back under the comfort of the covers, snuggling into Sandy’s arms, protection against a chilly night, and went to sleep. 

The next morning they slept through the alarm so there was little time to chat before Alec went off to work. Sandy’s speculation over tea and toast about what Laurie might like was brushed off. 

“How should _I_ know what the man would like? Ralph presumably, thank God, or we’d have been having a very different sort of Christmas this year.” 

With that Alec was off, walking briskly in the direction of the hospital. Sandy rinsed the cups and plates before he collected a shopping bag and headed to the high street. He had a few vegetables to buy (he rather fancied turnip if he could find any). However, he avoided the baker’s (even though they only had an end of loaf) not wanting to waste time in the queue; he could make some scones instead. 

By late morning Sandy had rooted through three antique stores. He’d seen a brooch that he rather thought would do for his sister’s Christmas present; and he’d picked up a jolly Buddha-shaped brass doorknocker for his mother. Had he been buying for Bunny there was innumerable tat he could have acquired. However, even if Ralph had not so summarily dismissed Bunny from his life, Sandy would not have been buying for _him._ He had felt a definite sense of relief when Laurie appeared on the scene. One never knew when a connection – even of the remotest kind – with someone like Bunny would prove a disastrous liability. What was the saying: keep my friends close and my enemies closer. Sandy had never felt greater need for self-preservation than when Bunny took up with Alec’s old boyfriend. Yes, all of the shops had contained a wide selection of dubious taste. If it were just _any_ present, he could have finished and been home making tea for Alec long since. 

Having exhausted the offerings of the real antique shops, Sandy turned to the less appealing second hand and thrift shops. The window of the Salvation Army store looked cheerful and inviting. Normally there was some kind of sign exhorting people about the war effort. However, in honour of the time of year, someone had tried to make a Christmas display in the window with a small paper crèche and a wreath; and a number of baby dolls were invitingly grouped round a miniature tea set. There was a welcoming bustle of cheer within; but amongst so many women he felt like a fish out of water. Clearly this shop provided a social outing for its patrons as much as an opportunity to recycle knick-knacks: he was the only man there. A girl of about fifteen, helping out in the shop, approached to ask if she could help. 

“A wedding present?” she pondered, after he had explained. “Mum might know of something.” 

She called her mother over; Sandy’s heart sank as he recognised the woman. 

“Why Dr Reid!” exclaimed Mrs Royden loudly, “fancy seeing you here. “Look Penny, it’s Dr Reid,” she exclaimed to another woman in the shop, somewhat unnecessarily given her earlier greeting, “He’s the one saved my Daniel’s life.” 

Sandy remembered all too well. It had been at the tag end of his Casualty rotation a few months ago. The department had been overflowing with casualties from an air raid when her son had arrived, a cowed looking eight year old in tow of a belligerent mother. Normally, in those circumstances, ambulatory patients who made their own way to hospital were not prioritised, on the simple basis that if they could walk, their injuries were unlikely to be as serious as those of patients brought in by ambulance. Normally any who protested this rough and ready triage were firmly put in their place by Sister. However that evening they had been unusually short-staffed; and Sister had been pulled into dealing with a medical crisis. The trainee nurse left in charge at the nursing station had simply not been equal to dealing with Mrs Royden (who could, quite frankly, have made two of the slender nurse). The woman had steamrollered her way through the reception area to one of the rear treatment rooms in pursuit of her son’s care. Sandy had stepped in. The look of intense gratitude on the trainee’s face when Sandy stepped forward to usher Mrs Royden and her rather grubby son into a cubicle had stayed with him. 

The lad had been playing in a bombed out house and injured himself. Life threatening damage it had not been; but it had been a nasty gash which bled profusely. What _had_ been life threatening had been the rumbling appendix. Now, seeing her in this shop, he realised Mrs Royden must have had her sights so firmly fixed on ‘doing good’ she had ignored the child’s continual stomach aches which had, when Sandy saw him, left him sweating and pale. At the time Mrs Royden had scolded her hapless offspring when he vomited on the clean floor, attributing his queasiness to the sight of blood (announcing, in what she no doubt thought a bracing way, that she’d never thought to have a son such as he and how he ever thought to follow in his father’s footsteps she’d _never_ know). Only his annoyance at this example of overbearing motherhood had led Sandy to take a closer look; his brief examination had sent the boy up to surgical. He and Alec had eaten rather well on the small roast of pork Mrs Royden had brought the next day as a thank you; the only son of a butcher clearly held some value, even when measured against the hereafter. 

Now Sandy cringed inside as Mrs Royden enquired archly, “ _Friend_ getting married and setting up house? Not _you_?” However, he’d had a lot of practice turning aside this kind of query over the years. At the shake of his head, she allowed he had “plenty of time yet.” He maintained a polite smile as she continued, “if my Jane was just a little older…but there, now – I expect there’s someone at the hospital you’re sweet on.” Sandy nodded; this it was safe to agree. Bridstow Hospital was a large place; and Mrs Royden had no real connections there. Beside which, it wasn’t even a lie; Sandy always felt a sense of quiet satisfaction when virtuous honesty led others to mislead themselves. Some people were just so predictable. 

“Now I wouldn’t offer this to just anyone, but seeing as it’s you….” Mrs Royden invited him to one corner where a greying woman sat plying her needle. “It’s not quite done yet; but as long as you don’t need it for this weekend….” The needlewoman looked at the young man before her as Mrs Royden spread out the ‘tail’ of what she was working on. Sandy’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the quilt in the making. Made from scraps of old material, this was nonetheless a thing of beauty. 

“Star pattern,” he murmured. 

Its maker smiled, “And how do you know quilting?” 

Sandy sat in the chair next to her, while Mrs Royden watched, her satisfaction smug on her face. 

“My grandmother made a cover for my bed when I was a child,” said Sandy, “though it wasn’t as gorgeous as this one. He touched one of the squares eagerly. “She never made any for sale....” His voice trailed off as he looked at the careworn features beside him, “any more than you... your son?” he enquired gently. 

“Grandson,” the woman corrected, stroking one corner of her work lightly. “He won’t be needing it now. Agnes here,” there was a gesture to Mrs Royden, who, consummate saleswoman, waited patiently for when she would be needed, “convinced me this would make good use of it. Would it be for yourself?” 

Sandy shook his head. “I came looking for a present for a friend; but it needs to be something he can take with him; and I’m afraid I do need it by tomorrow.” His regret was obvious; and he lingered, chatting about the woman’s grandson and how he had died. She didn’t know much more than that he’d been a pilot out of Biggin Hill, shot down a few months ago; Sandy thought he might know rather more about what the man had been through, having listened to Bim’s drunken rants more than once. He declined to enlighten. When Sandy left the shop he was no further forward in the search for a present for Laurie, but lighter the money spent on the warm cover he and Alec needed for winter. He would pick it up next week. 

He emerged to a boisterous, happy crowd on the pavement. A troupe of Morris dancers jumped and clapped and rang their bells. A little lad with a sign hung round his neck announcing the cause they were collecting for made the rounds with a bucket. Dutifully Sandy fished out sixpence, then made his way to a stand and bought some chestnuts to enjoy while watching the dancing. He blew on the hot nuts to cool them slightly before peeling the husks and eating the soft insides. Winter was dreary and damp but did have its compensations. Hungry pigeons pecked at the husks he let drop on the ground before he crossed the road to the next shop. 

Persistence, he told himself; it just needed persistence. The right gift would be out there. He simply needed to find it. The skinny young man minding the till looked up briefly from a copy of the local newspaper as Sandy entered the store. He sniffed loudly before dabbling at a red streaming nose with a dirty hanky. It was hardly a warm friendly greeting; but in just such unlikely surroundings as these were sometimes hidden quite marvellous finds. Besides which, Sandy reminded himself, he had limited funds having spent so much on the quilt, and there weren’t really that many more shops to try. He made his way to the back. Somebody had contributed a collection of stuffed animals which, lacking the dubious appeal of vases and fairground ornaments had been pushed towards the rear. A one eyed fox with a damaged ear stared glassily at a large domed case with an assortment of birds he was pretty sure one would never find together in the wild. Out of the corner of his eye Sandy thought he glimpsed a statuette. Could that be Art Nouveau? Here? With much effort, and some careful easing back and forth, he shifted a case of waders sufficiently to squeeze past.

No, it definitely wasn’t Art Nouveau; now he saw the lady up close he could see her figure was rather too lush for the elegance of that period. Pretty enough, but not what he wanted. He rather thought Ralph would have more appreciation for it than Laurie, unless he mistook his queers. In fact, he acknowledged, it would have been _so_ much easier buying for Ralph than Laurie. He was well aware of Ralph’s opinion of him; but he fancied himself not a bad judge of character and rather thought he understood Ralph somewhat better than Ralph understood him. Ralph would be happy with a bottle of rum, or perhaps a compass to take on rambles. In fact, he’d already bought Ralph a new notebook for Christmas (he’d seen the journals Ralph had left with Alec for safe keeping before he had moved in). No doubt he would attribute the choice of gift to Alec and cherish it accordingly; but Sandy would have the inner satisfaction of knowing who had really chosen the gift. 

Sandy abandoned the shop feeling quite discouraged by this point. Even with wartime privations he had not expected the selection of possible presents to be this poor. A drink; that was what was needed. Besides, lovely though the chestnuts had been, he had been left with quite a dry mouth. The Red Lion, just round the corner, offered haven. It was not a pub he normally frequented, close to the waterfront; and he regretted trying it almost as soon as he entered. A group of raucous sailors, clearly off a ship only recently docked, dominated one side of the room. Sandy carefully made his way to a stool at the opposite end of the bar and ordered a pint of bitter, determined to drink quickly and get out of there as soon as he was done. Trouble came not from the sailors, however, but from a bottle-blonde female with smudged scarlet lipstick seated at a table in the corner nearby. Approaching the bar for a refill, she poured the dregs of her drink over his lap, accusing him of cowardice. In an earlier age he supposed he would have been handed a white feather; at least that would have left him with dry trousers. He was surprised though, given he was still sporting an injured arm. He would have presumed that would protect him from this sort of nastiness. The barman was apologetic in offering him a cloth (profusely so when Sandy allowed his hospital identification to slip out of his pocket) and explained the woman had recently learned her fiancé’s ship had been sunk in a submarine attack. Sandy declined the offer of a free drink; the afternoon was wearing on and he still had not found anything right for Laurie. 

There was one last shop round the back alley not far from the pub. He had left it to last as previous explorations had shown it to be pretty much full of junk, and the merchandise usually dusty and badly displayed to boot. Nevertheless, now he turned toward it; there really was nowhere else left to try. The bell jingled as Sandy pushed open the door to the shop. Sandy smiled pleasantly at the shopkeeper as he entered. She barely looked up from her knitting to acknowledge him, clearly having no real expectation of a sale. Idly he wondered why she even bothered to open up day after day, sitting there as she did, ignoring potential customers. She clearly took no pleasure in it. Not that it appeared she took pleasure in anything: fat and frumpily dressed, with her mousy hair screwed up in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Disheartened, the shop reflected its owner. Sandy felt depressed just stepping over the threshold. But he was also determined. 

Sure enough, as the window had promised, there were the chipped platters and odd mismatched sets of glassware common to respectable second hand and tatty junk shops alike. Remembering how Laurie had examined his bookshelf at the party, Sandy looked carefully at the books. There was the usual selection of Boy’s Own, an outdated Baedeker guide to Greece, a dusty set of history books and some Latin textbooks. At some point, someone in a vain attempt at organisation had put Henty’s _With Clive of India_ beside some Colonel’s memoirs from his time in India. That might do for Ralph – he’d found several presents suitable for _Ralph._ Laurie, however, was proving somewhat more difficult to buy for. 

A little further back was a jumble of odd pieces of furniture. Sandy coveted a curio cabinet for his flat with Alec and had been looking for the right one for a while. Just his luck to see it now, when his money was earmarked for something else. He made a mental note to come back for it next month after he got paid. It was a fair bet it would still be here. It sat beside a heavy old commode chair with a leatherette seat (propped up to show the enamel basin fitted in a shelf underneath). Why they had covered the seat in that _particular_ brown…. Sandy shook his head slightly. Clearly function had influenced design, though personally he would have thought a nice dark green, or perhaps navy blue, would be much nicer. 

He had pretty much given up and was turning to leave when it caught his eye, off to one side, half hidden by a pile of old clothes. Unceremoniously he dumped them on top of a stool, uncovering a rather large wooden elephant. No, not large, he thought: medium. He remembered seeing one very like it, only much larger, sitting on the floor beside the fireplace in his aunt’s sitting room when he was little. Sandy picked up this elephant, remembering the other. As a little boy he had played on it, imagining himself riding to war. Other lads he had played with had had to settle for mere rocking horses. Years later, after his uncle had retired from service in India, teenage Sandy had visited the old man. He remembered sitting on the floor leaning against the elephant listening to marvellous stories of far off places, and exotic people. It was Uncle James who had encouraged him to apply to medical school in the south. “Get out of here, laddie – go away to where no one knows your people and can remind you of all their expectations. You can be yourself where no one else knows you.” How much had his crusty old bachelor uncle realised? In retrospect Sandy wondered; but the barriers between generations stood tall (and he was dead now and could not be asked, even if Sandy could bring himself to speak openly). 

Uncle James had shown Sandy how cleverly the ornate carving of the elephant’s back hid a mechanism which opened a secret compartment. The old reprobate had used it for whiskey, hidden from his sister, who was a staunch member of the Temperance Society. Determined to convert her brother (who remained fond of his tipple to the day he died) Aunt Margaret had turned the house upside down periodically searching for his stash. Equally house proud, she had polished the ebony carving methodically every week. But, it had kept faith with its owner (and the artisan who had created it) and never divulged its secret. One had to push just _here_ while pulling on _there_ and.... Sandy gave a little grin of satisfaction as this elephant, too, proved to have a secret compartment. 

The shop’s proprietress, totally disinterested, had charged him only a shilling. Sandy had popped into a bookshop on the way home and picked up a slender volume of Wilfred Owen, which he had tucked neatly into the cubbyhole. Given the trouble he had run into at Dunkirk, he thought Laurie might appreciate the sentiments. He was sure Ralph (who, as he recalled, used to travel to India before the war) would show Laurie how to find the secret compartment. By the time Alec got home from hospital Sandy had already wrapped the elephant. He was a little disappointed not to show him; but Alec had phoned to say he’d be at hospital very late because of an accident. So in the end Sandy had looked out some paper (he had a bit left from last year – slightly rumpled but it would do) and wrapped the present. 

He glowed with anticipation as he recounted his find to Alec; and was rewarded with a quick hard kiss. 

“So you think he’ll like it?” asked Sandy. 

“ _I_ like it,” Alex replied. When Sandy was like this it was easy to remember what had attracted him last year. 

“And you’ll give it to Ralph to give to Laurie when he takes him his present?” 

Alec blinked in surprise. “No, I forgot to mention.” He searched through his overcoat pocket for a small flat package, and picked up a box he had set down on the hallway table when he came in. These he handed to Sandy, “Ralph can’t get away from base tomorrow, so he asked me to deliver them to Laurie in the morning. And now I can’t go because Harrison’s scheduled me to operate tomorrow. Could you...?” 

Sandy’s eyes crinkled at the thought of Ralph Lanyon being beholden to himself for the delivery of presents to his lover. “Of _course_ , ducky – happy to oblige.”


End file.
